


leaves bleeding from yellow to green

by nightdotlight



Series: Jedi June 2020 [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, Hugs, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightdotlight/pseuds/nightdotlight
Summary: At Mace’s feet, the grass ripples in a nonexistent breeze. It’s yellowing and slightly stiff: this planet has seen a drought over the last few months, but when they arrived, yesterday, it was raining. Mace and Ezra climbed the mountain’s north face this morning, to see for themselves that the rivers have begun once more to swell and rush.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Mace Windu
Series: Jedi June 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776460
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71
Collections: Mace Windu Fandom Safe Space





	leaves bleeding from yellow to green

**Author's Note:**

> day seven: symbiosis/connection

Around Ezra, the Force sings.

It’s a clear, sweet thing— more than joyful at his presence. It resonates through Mace’s body, channeling into the current of the Living Force around them as it flows: through the earth, the aquifers sunk deep below, the rock formations of the great mountain  _ Nubrompilo _ illuminated by the mid-afternoon sunbeams.

Ezra doesn’t seem to notice; there’s no jerk of alarm, no sense of reaction to it in his presence. He remains as normal, that sense of calm overlaying a core of steel and tension. It’s a cave system below a green field, an unknown— but it’s an unknown they’re discovering together, as Master and Padawan.

At Mace’s feet, the grass ripples in a nonexistent breeze. It’s yellowing and slightly stiff: this planet has seen a drought over the last few months, but when they arrived, yesterday, it was raining. Mace and Ezra climbed the mountain’s north face this morning, to see for themselves that the rivers have begun once more to swell and rush.

Fish had returned from the springs far upstream, too— when Ezra had stood in the freezing current, trousers rolled up to his knees, the clear water had filled with rippling red and green-blue scales, gentle splashes from fins sending droplets all the way up his shins.

He brings life wherever he goes, this one.

Mace can’t quantify in words or money, or even in  _ thought _ , how fortunate the Jedi were that Ezra was brought to them. The only way he can describe it—

A swelling feeling in his chest. Thankfulness rising with a sting like bile up his throat, an exhale like oxygen, inexorable.

Depa is the daughter he will never have, and now—

Ezra is the child, the descendant, the  _ son _ he will never have, too.

Mace looks up and over at his Padawan. He’s on his knees in the grass, petting a tooka as it rolls happily over to show the clouds of fluff covering its stomach, a deep rumbling emanating from its chest. Where his weight presses the yellowing leaves into the dirt, they have begun to regain colour; sun-spotted green bleeding from root to stem. It’s nearly unnoticeable, definitely unconscious— but it happens, still, in these moments. A physical reflection of the way the Force reacts to Ezra, the boy from the future sent to live and change the past.

The Jedi sent from a galaxy without.

“Hey there,” Mace’s student chuckles, “you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?”

The tooka’s only reply is another rumbling, roaring purr and a decisive wiggle into the grass. Ezra’s settled fully into giving it attention, fingers buried in the pale fur covering its stomach to scratch it gently. From where he stands, Mace can feel the connection between the two, their shared contentment in the Force— the tooka’s comfortable lassitude in a sea of steady affection, Ezra’s small smile hiding a deep warmth and serenity that ebbs from him into his surroundings.

Mace knows that the contrast surprises people, sometimes. He’s not known for his people skills, isn’t well given to diplomacy no matter how eloquent he can be. People find him blunt, intimidating.

Ezra makes friends as easy as breathing; the Force around him is always a web of connections, temporary and permanent, filled with that easy affection he turns on almost everyone. Mace has seen firsthand the scars on his heart, but it remains open to the galaxy, compassionate to the core, and—

He’s so angry, so righteous. So much like Mace, in that way that has brought them together as teacher and student. A deep, biting rage that he has long since leashed through Vaapad and patience, but his Padawan so far has not.

Their training bond helps, Mace knows. When you cannot think of an answer to he problem, you must  _ be _ the answer. Ezra hasn’t yet learned to leash his rage at the Empire and his past— today’s banished future. His anger at the injustice and cruelty and  _ loneliness _ of it all doesn’t often overflow; but when it rises too high to bear, choking and clawing at him, Mace can balance with serenity. He can let him feel that echo, of matching fury in another soul, and the peace and focus rising to temper it.

That is the answer, for now. They will find something more permanent— Ezra will learn to control that drive of white-hot rage. Vaapad is a possibility, once his control is stable enough to permit it. Until then, they will not risk his learning too early, lest it consume him.

Until then, they will stay as they are— Master and Padawan, and and Mace will act as an anchor in the light.

At the very least, what Ezra came here to do is done. At the very least, Palpatine is dead.

He is dead, and Mace is alive. Ezra is alive. Depa and Obi-Wan are alive.

At least they are alive. At least, they are safe. 

They can be happy.

“Hey, Master Mace!”

He looks up. Ezra is waving, that cheery, irrepressible smile spread over his face as he waves Mace over.

He goes, begrudgingly. Admittedly— there is very little he could deny his Padawan.

“Yes, Ezra?” His keeps his voice low, careful not to startle the tooka.

Ezra just smiles, their bond flickering with that affectionate warmth. Tugs Mace a little closer with the Force, then gently grasping his wrist, oh-so-careful of where the prosthetic joins the rest of his arm. He has to raise an eyebrow at the use of the Force, but can’t stop warmth from expanding in his chest at the slight sheepishness on his Padawan’s face, upon realisation of the silent reprimand.

Taking care not to disturb the tooka, Mace allows Ezra to guide him down onto the grass, feeling for a second how different it is from the dry and yellow stalks not metres away.

“C’mon, Master,” Ezra urges him, grasping his hand once more and bringing it towards the tooka, “she’s really friendly.”

Mace fixes him with his best  _ are you joking _ look, because really, they’ve well established by now that not every animal— or person, for that matter— enamoured with him loves Mace in turn. But Ezra’s face is entirely guileless, so—

Uncertain, Mace reaches out a hand, and runs his fingers down the tooka’s flank.

If before it was purring, now its chest roars like a fighter engine, and it presses into the contact happily, entire body vibrating.

He can’t quite stifle a smile. Looks at Ezra, and—

His Padawan is looking down at the place where Mace’s fingers part fur in a way that’s so bittersweet, he can’t help it.

He reaches our and pulls Ezra sideways into his body, letting his student curl into him as he continues to stroke the tooka between them. As if sensing the loss of pets from its initial friend, it rolls over and sits up, making an inquisitive sound, before padding over to be closer to both of them.

“Hey, little one,” Ezra murmurs, turning his head from Mace’s tunic and reaching out again. With a small sound, it bumps its head into his hand gently, before once again lying down on the grass when he begins to stroke it once more, content that the world has gone back to rights.

This time, Mace doesn’t hesitate to reach out too, scratching the top of its head and allowing the connection, the simple, uncomplicated affection, to roll over him.

Beside him, his Padawan leans into him a little more, and Mace lets him. Pushes his own affection down the bond, too, and feels Ezra reciprocate with that love he gives so freely.

It will make him a great Jedi, some day.

But for now, the mid-afternoon sky is blue, and the grass fades from yellow to green.

For now, the Living Force sings around Ezra Bridger, and—

Mace Windu’s song joins it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt: symbiosis
> 
> my brain: gcse biology paper two—
> 
> mace windu would give great hugs and you cannot change my mind. he and ezra are the dream team.


End file.
